


Flexible Office Hours

by Rubick



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Eliot Waugh's Canonically Huge Dick, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, I couldn't find a way to fit Gatorade in this fic but if I did it would have been white, M/M, POV Eliot Waugh, Porn 101, Porn 201, Professor Coldwater, Quentin Coldwater's Canonical Oral Fixation, Rimming, Teacher-Student Relationship, hoko is the fucking best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:48:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28132704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubick/pseuds/Rubick
Summary: “I’m just really worried about the final, Quentin,” Eliot says softly. He lets his eyes flicker down to the floor, and then back up to Quentin. “I don’t think I did very well, and I was wondering—hoping, really—you’d let me do something to make up for it. Extra credit, we could call it.” He looks up at Quentin, trying to convey even half the heat he could feel boiling in his body through his gaze. “I’d doanythingto make you happy.”Quentin’s lips press into a thin line as his eyes flicker between Eliot’s eyes and his hands resting on the desktop. “Really?” he says, something, Eliot can’t tell quite what, brewing behind his gaze. “Anything?”A little light and fluffy crack fic in which Eliot realizes the new, hot teacher may not be as clueless as he thought.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 35
Kudos: 143





	Flexible Office Hours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hoko_onchi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoko_onchi/gifts).



> In which Rubi can’t hold onto a gift for longer than 24 hours, apparently. This is a stocking gift for the amazing and priceless [hoko_onchi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoko_onchi) which is not supposed to be revealed until January, but today is my birthday and I wanna give it to her today so here it is.
> 
> This is _not_ in the same universe as Professor Coldwater. Think of it as another timeline that isn’t near as angsty as that one.
> 
> Many thanks to [mixtapestar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixtapestar) for her wonderful beta skills and for coming up with the title!

“You’re late, Mr. Waugh.” Professor Coldwater glances up from the paperwork on his desk, frowning slightly as Eliot strides into the classroom.

“Sorry,” he says, shrugging. “Lost track of time.” That’s a total lie, Eliot knows exactly what time it is.

Quentin sighs, standing up from behind his desk. “Shut the door,” he says. “So we won’t be disturbed.”

Eliot obediently shuts it behind him, trying to ignore how his heart speeds up in his chest. _Be cool be cool_. What he’s about to do _could_ get him in deep trouble. As in don’t even bother with detention (as if Brakebills would ever), no strongly-worded letter of warning home to his parents. If his instincts are wrong, he could be in Fogg’s office getting his memory wiped before being dropped off on a street corner in NYC with nothing to his name besides his tailored vests and skinny trousers.

But his instincts are almost never wrong. And he’d bet money he’d have to steal that tonight, they’re right on target.

Quentin gestures to one of the desks in front of him. Eliot gives him a small smile as he takes a seat. Quentin leans against his desk, arms crossed in front of his chest. He’d shed his blazer he’d been wearing earlier that day—a dark grey jacket that matches his pants. The dark blue and white polka dotted shirt he’s wearing now has the top few buttons left open, giving a tantalizing glimpse of chest hair peeking out. Eliot allows himself one quick look before darting his eyes back up to Quentin’s. Who is looking at Eliot very curiously.

It’s late, nearing 7PM. Eliot had asked to see the professor to discuss his final exam. Or at least, that’s what he told Professor Coldwater—or, Quentin rather.

Eliot had been mildly interested when he’d heard there was a cute new professor on campus. That mild interest turned into a full-fledged crush after about ten minutes into day one of Minor Mending. Margo said the term ‘obsession’ would be more accurate, but whatever, what does she know (Everything, but she's still wrong sometimes). Eliot has never had perfect attendance or bothered to work harder than the bare minimum in class, but he’s on track for both in Minor Mending.

Eliot can’t even tell you what it is about Quentin. Maybe it’s the fact that he stuttered and stumbled his way through his first class, dropping the box of stuff they were supposed to practice mending to show “where their skill level was," shattering most of the mugs and vases all over the floor. “Well, at least now I have enough for demonstrations,” he’d said, his face turning a lovely tomato red as students had moved their desks out of the way of the shards of glass littering the floor. He’d then gone on and on about magic and how even though it can’t fix everything, it can help with the small stuff—and he’d proved it by fixing every broken item in the box. The way he talked, with a reverence for magic that Eliot didn’t think he ever felt and a fucking twinkle in his eyes, kept Eliot’s attention in a way no one had in a long time. Combined with the stuttering, nervous laughter, so many references to every nerdy fandom under the sun, and how his cheeks would tinge slightly pink anytime he’d make eye contact with Eliot, it was like fate had created Quentin Coldwater solely to tempt Eliot into making a Very Bad Decision.

It would be one thing if Eliot just had a random crush on his teacher who couldn’t care less. But from that very first day, Eliot has had an inkling, a notion, a gut feeling—that Quentin is just as infatuated as Eliot is. The blushing, the way Quentin would lock eyes with Eliot, glance away, and then look back, the awkward laughter, are all very familiar signs for when a guy is interested in Eliot but desperately trying not to show it. That alone wouldn’t be enough for Eliot to consider what he’s going to try tonight, though.

After their third class, on the first Friday of the semester, Eliot walked up to Quentin’s desk, asking a few questions about the spells he’d demonstrated that day. The other students had filed out, and Quentin came to stand next to Eliot, both of them half-leaning, half-sitting on the front of his desk as they talked about mending spells and how they used principles from the telekinesis spells that came as naturally to Eliot as breathing, and then somehow the conversation turned to Quentin’s time as a student at Brakebills and the parties Eliot was well-known for hosting.

“I’d invite you to the one we’re throwing tonight, but I doubt Fogg would approve of teachers crashing the party,” Eliot said, leaning forward, unable to stop himself from moving an inch closer. Normally Eliot would rather die than have any faculty member look twice at his parties, but he just couldn’t help himself. Being around Quentin just made him want to throw all caution to the wind.

Quentin had smiled at him and Eliot swore his heart stopped in his chest by how beautiful Quentin was when he smiled. “It probably wouldn’t give a good impression to Henry if I was crashing student parties my first week. I appreciate the invite. I do miss the Cottage, but it’s nice having my own bathroom in my own apartment.”

“You don’t live in the faculty dorms?” Eliot asked, his mind already calculating how to get an invite to Quentin’s apartment.

“God, no,” Quentin said, cringing. “It’s depressing as fuck, and I’ve had enough of that in my life.”

Eliot nodded. “Well, I’ll drink a signature cocktail for you. Maybe I can make you one some time.”

Quentin smiled, saying, “Sure.” He and Eliot looked at each other for a moment, and Eliot felt that _thing_ , that electric current that surged over his skin, lit up his entire body. He could have sworn Quentin had swayed towards him, into his space, just for a second before clearing his throat. “You can give me the recipe and I’ll try to make it sometime. I’m sure I won’t do it justice, though.” Then he stood up, walking around to the other side of his desk.

Eliot stood up as well, straightening his tie, clearing his throat, half trying to convince himself he’d imagined the connection between them, how it had lived and breathed and ached to wrap around them both. He turned back to Quentin—“Thank you for the insight about the spellwork; I’ll get some more practice in, Professor Coldwater.”

He turned to go, and was halfway across the classroom when the professor called his name. Eliot turned to see Quentin arranging some papers on his desk. He spoke so quietly Eliot almost missed it.

“You can call me Quentin.” His eyes darted up to Eliot’s, and then back to his desk. Eliot had nodded and slipped away, his pulse racing as a brilliant smile lit up his face.

And yeah, it was _stupid_. It was fucking dumb to talk to Quentin way too frequently after class, smiling and laughing and asking if he’d seen the new Star Wars and nodding along as Quentin went off about Kylo whoever and insulting legacies and ruining possibilities, and it was probably really idiotic to visit him during office hours (Quentin's office almost always smelled like weed; the temptation to ask Quentin if he wanted to go get high in the Observatory Tower (and maybe get a blow job while they were at it?) nearly overpowered Eliot’s good sense) where he noticed that Quentin always left the door wide open and sat behind his desk and would sometimes very suddenly end their talks (that always started off about classwork but eventually meandered into other subjects like movies or family or Quentin's really horrible taste in liquor) with “Well I need to grade some essays Mr. Waugh” (and he’d randomly call him ‘Mr. Waugh’ for some reason, in this very formal voice that Eliot only ever heard him use when he was talking to Fogg). It also wasn’t his brightest idea to insist to Margo that she was imagining things, even when she accused him of being off his game because he hadn’t sucked any random dick in two weeks and—some people need a break from random dick, Margo, it’s not a goddamn crime to want some time to yourself, okay??

Not that Eliot spent all of his time pining. Oh he still had his random hookups, though they were not as often, and frequently his targets had long hair and brown eyes. Eliot also focused way too much energy into trying to get the professor to crack in class. He had so much fun getting him to blush when he’d ask questions like, _“So Professor Coldwater_ (he only called him Quentin when they were alone, and when he did say Professor Coldwater, he’d always kind of roll it around in his mouth like it was a strawberry that he wanted to suck every ounce of flavor out of) _what if I wanted to repair, say, something made of leather? Or rubber? Would I use different spells for that?_ ” And it would be so entertaining to call Quentin over to correct a movement (" _Professor? I can’t seem to get my fingers to move the right way, can you help?"_ ). When Quentin would slide his fingers over Eliot’s, walk him through the castings and manipulate his hands into the correct formation, it would send shockwaves of pleasure straight to Eliot’s cock, and Quentin would always mutter something about how well Eliot was doing before beating his own hasty retreat.

In short, Eliot had spent an entire semester building up the most epic case of blue balls. And he was 98% sure that Quentin was in the same situation. 

Move ahead to this week, when Eliot could no longer help himself. He’d taken his last test in Minor Mending, and while he didn’t have the results back yet, he was pretty sure he’d passed. He was no longer officially Quentin’s student, and finally, he was going to do it. He was going to make a move on Quentin. Take this to the next level. Proposition him. Ask if he could butter Quentin’s sausage. And if Quentin rebuffed him, Eliot could spend his last year on campus ignoring Quentin and hoping he wouldn't one day get called into Fogg’s office and mind-wiped and left on the street.

He’d approached Quentin after the final that day, asking if he could speak to him about his test. Quentin had seemed surprised, and said Eliot could come during his office hours the next day. Eliot had been prepared for this, and said, while giving his most innocent expression, “Professor Coldwater, unfortunately your hours conflict with my other classes, so I was hoping I could see you some other time. Maybe tonight? My schedule is pretty flexible then.”

Quentin had given Eliot an intense, searching look, and Eliot was sure he was about to be turned down. But then he’d cleared his throat, and said, “Sure. Meet here tonight at seven?”

And now Eliot is sitting in front of Quentin, leaning back in the chair, legs splayed open as he gazes up at Quentin. He’d dressed for the occasion, forgoing his usual vest and tie in favor of a slim-fit button down and a pair of skinny trousers. He’d shoved the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, and had left the top few buttons of his shirt undone. He could see Quentin’s eyes jumping from Eliot’s chest up to his face and back, and he knew he was having the desired effect. He was going to crack this egg. He had no idea if Quentin was gay or bi or pan or straight with an affinity for Eliot (something that occurred fairly frequently in ‘straight’ men that met Eliot, actually), but he _knew_ , without a doubt, that Quentin was attracted to him. And even if all that happened was Quentin got his dick sucked, Eliot would still leave the room a happy man.

“So what did you want to talk about?” Quentin asks, brushing back a few strands of hair behind his ear. He had it up in a tight little bun, peak hair for him in Eliot’s opinion, but by the end of the day, it was always falling down around his face. It was ridiculously sexy.

 _Here we go_ , Eliot thinks. He leans forward slightly, his elbows on the desk, running the fingers of one hand over his wrist. He can see Quentin’s eyes track the movement, see his throat bob as he swallows. _Got ya_.

“I’m just really worried about the final, Quentin,” Eliot says softly. He lets his eyes flicker down to the floor, and then back up to Quentin. “I don’t think I did very well, and I was wondering—hoping, really—you’d let me do something to make up for it. Extra credit, we could call it.” He looks up at Quentin, trying to convey even half the heat he could feel boiling in his body through his gaze. “I’d do _anything_ to make you happy.”

Quentin’s lips press into a thin line as his eyes flicker between Eliot’s eyes and his hands resting on the desktop. “Really?” he says, something, Eliot can’t tell quite what, brewing behind his gaze. “Anything?”

Boldly keeping Quentin’s gaze, Eliot stands up, stepping forward until he’s just a foot in front of Quentin. He reaches one hand out, gently grazing his fingers over Quentin’s knuckles. “Anything,” he repeats, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Quentin’s eyes immediately drop to his mouth, and then back up to Eliot’s eyes.

They stare at each other for a second, two, tension crackling and snapping between them when Quentin clears his throat, standing up and pulling his hand away. Eliot steps back in surprise, his stomach dropping to his knees.

“Mr. Waugh,” Quentin says in that formal tone that Eliot really really dislikes right now, “This is very… inappropriate.” 

_Shit. Fuck._

Quentin is walking over to the classroom door. “I could report this to Dean Fogg. Have you expelled.”

Eliot’s mouth drops open. How could he have been so incredibly off-base? _Fuckfuckfuckfuck_.

He watches as Quentin pauses at the door, one hand on the knob. 

_Ohmygod I’m going to get expelled and mind-wiped Margo was right I think with my dick too much I gotta think with other things like my balls and sometimes my brain this is not helping talk talk talk!_

“I—Quent—Professor—”

“However,” Quentin says, and Eliot notices the corners of his mouth are tugging up, “what would be the fun in that?” And then his hands move as he locks the latch on the door. Another simple tut, and the lights in the classroom go out, leaving the room bathed in moonlight streaming in through the third floor windows.

Eliot laughs in stunned, desperate, fucking intense relief as Quentin slowly walks towards him. The small smile on his face is predatory, and a chill of anticipation runs down Eliot’s spine.

He smiles, big and warm as Quentin gets closer. “You’re an asshole,” he says, reaching out to grab Quentin’s hands, reel him in.

“I am,” Quentin agrees, settling his hands on Eliot’s hips as he pushes up to kiss him.

The first touch of lips is firm and exploratory, feeling how they fit together, pulling back and adjusting. Eliot runs one hand up Quentin’s arm to rest on the nape of his neck as Quentin’s hands press into Eliot’s back. Quentin’s tongue flickers out to taste Eliot’s lips, and Eliot opens to him, suppressing a groan at his first taste of Quentin.

Eliot has kissed a lot of people, and he can’t remember the last time he felt this intoxicated this quickly. And maybe it’s not that fast, it’s been building for months, a tiny spark that’s been nursed into a raging inferno, and now that they’ve let it loose, it’ll only take seconds to consume them both. That’s certainly how it feels as Quentin slips his tongue into Eliot’s mouth, his hands exploring Eliot’s chest and back.

Eliot pulls Quentin’s hips flush against his own, his cock starting to respond to the tight body he’s been dreaming about for months. Eliot gently turns and backs Quentin up until he’s pressed up against the edge of his desk. Eliot ducks his head, kissing down Quentin’s jaw, over to his ear as his hands roam down Quentin’s back, to palm his ass.

“You know how long I’ve thought about this?” he whispers in Quentin’s ear as he squeezes his ass through his pants, Quentin pushing against Eliot’s thigh.

“If you’re like me, since you walked in the door the first day of class?” Quentin gasps, threading his fingers through Eliot’s curls. 

“The second I saw you, I wanted you,” Eliot says, his hands moving down the backs of Quentin’s thighs. He quickly picks him up and sits him on the edge of his desk, Quentin squeaking in surprise.

“God, you’re so fucking sexy,” Quentin says, his fingers moving to unbutton Eliot’s shirt, card through his chest hair, ghost over a nipple as Eliot arches into his touch. They’re of equal height this way, and Eliot captures Quentin in another kiss, because he’s thought about this for so long and nothing is enough. He wants Quentin’s mouth all over him, his fingers inside him, tight and hot and wet until he’s buried to the hilt and can’t help but explode.

Eliot makes quick work of Quentin’s shirt, unbuttoning it and shoving it down Quentin’s arms. God, his shoulders, arms, chest—everything is hard and rising with every breath, Quentin’s smell, like honey and soap and a warm summer day all rolled into one filling his nostrils, his taste like mint and coffee and just that fucking intoxicating flavor that can only be defined as _Quentin_ sinking into Eliot’s mouth.

Eliot licks and nibbles down Quentin’s neck, sinking his teeth lightly into his shoulder. Quentin responds beautifully, sighing and pushing into Eliot, pulling his face back up into a filthy kiss.

Eliot reaches down for Quentin’s belt, and yeah, maybe it’s partly the fact that they’re in a classroom about to get naked on Quentin’s desk on the third floor of the Telekinesis and Psychokinesis building, but Eliot doesn’t think he’s ever been so turned on in his life. He needs to feel Quentin’s skin against his own, needs to feel his nails drag down his back as he pounds into him, needs to feel Quentin come apart around his cock.

Quentin hisses as Eliot slips his hand inside Quentin’s boxers, wrapping his fingers around Quentin’s cock. He’s halfway hard, and Eliot strokes his dick once, twice, enjoying how it stiffens in his palm.

“Your fucking hands,” Quentin nearly growls, reaching his own hands around to grip at Eliot’s ass, pull him closer as he places his mouth on Eliot’s ear, his tongue tracing around the rim as he speaks. “Dreamed about what they’d feel like on my dick.”

“Yeah?” Eliot asks, slowly pumping Quentin. “Live up to the fantasy?”

“So much better,” Quentin says, his own hands moving to Eliot’s pants. “You know what else I’ve thought about?”

“Hmmm?” Eliot hums, sucking a mark into Quentin’s neck, still stroking his dick.

“If the rumors going around campus are true.” Eliot chuckles as Quentin shoves Eliot’s pants and boxers around his thighs, his cock popping out almost comically. “Annnd that’s a _big_ yes,” Quentin says, reaching down to rub the head of Eliot’s dick. Eliot’s hand stutters on Quentin’s cock, and he lets Quentin push him backwards so he can hop off the desk, his eyes never leaving the cock he’s circling his fingers around.

“ _Another_ thing I’ve thought about,” Quentin says, batting Eliot’s hand off his own cock as he puts Eliot where he just was, leaning against the desk, “is what your come tastes like.” 

Eliot wonders if this is what lottery winners feel like. He hadn't expected this from the buttoned-up professor who seemed like he spent way more time with his nose in a book than his mouth on a cock.

“You are very curious,” Eliot says, sighing as Quentin strokes Eliot’s dick, and then moves his hand lower, caressing his balls.

“Is it okay if I satisfy my curiosity?” Quentin asks, smiling up at him. Eliot can’t help but duck his head and kiss Quentin, long and slow.

“Sure,” he says as he pulls away. Quentin’s already dropping to his knees, casting a protection spell along the way, as Eliot adds, “You can try.” Quentin gives him a smirk, keeping eye contact as he wraps his lips around the head of Eliot’s cock.

Eliot has no intention of coming in Quentin’s mouth, as much as he’d love to watch him swallow down everything Eliot gives him. Eliot is pretty sure, given the whole illicit piece to their relationship, that this thing between them will not go any further than this one night. Quentin’s a teacher, Eliot is a student, and no matter how good the dick may be, it’s not worth getting expelled.

Or at least he thought it wasn't worth it until Quentin got his mouth on Eliot's cock. As Quentin wraps his tongue around Eliot’s dick, taking him in until he bumps the back of his throat, Eliot is forced to re-evaluate his position. He doesn’t want to come yet because he really, _really_ wants to fuck Quentin. But _goddamn_ this feels amazing, his cock sliding into the warm, wet heat of Quentin’s mouth, Quentin’s hand working his balls.

“ _Fuck_ , Quentin, if I knew you were this talented with your mouth I would’ve stayed after class the first day,” Eliot gasps, threading his fingers through Quentin’s hair, brushing it out of his face. Eliot can see that Quentin has his other hand on his own cock, touching himself, growing harder as he takes Eliot deeper down his throat.

It’s not long before Eliot pulls away gently (and regretfully, but he has plans dammit), pulling a confused Quentin to his feet. He kisses Quentin, thrusting his tongue into his mouth as his hands slide down Quentin’s back, to palm his bare ass. Eliot slides one finger down the cleft of his ass, pulling away an inch to whisper, “Can I fuck you?”

He thinks he’s _finally_ caught Quentin off guard as he gapes at Eliot, wide-eyed, and squeaks out, “Here??” 

“Right here,” Eliot says, tutting his hand behind Quentin’s back, rubbing the resulting lube over his fingers. He places his lips right over Quentin’s ear and says, “Bend you over the desk and watch my cock slide into you.” He traces his slick fingers down the soft curve of Quentin’s ass, gently pulling his cheeks apart so he can circle right around his tight rim.

Quentin lets out a breathy moan, and Eliot takes it as permission to push one finger in, slowly, up to the second knuckle. It slides right inside, and Quentin fucking _keens_ against Eliot’s neck, dragging his teeth over his pulse point.

“Yes,” he says. “ _Fuck_ yes.” He captures Eliot’s mouth in another kiss as he hurriedly tries to step all the way out of his pants, nearly falling forward into Eliot.

They shuffle and reposition, hardly taking enough time to stop kissing to take off the rest of their clothes. There’s not much light in the classroom, but there’s enough for Eliot to fully appreciate naked Quentin in all his glory. His broad shoulders, slim stomach, dusty nipples, hard cock jutting out proudly between his strong thighs, are better than any fantasy Eliot’s kept in his head for the past few months.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” Eliot tells him, and Quentin smiles, splaying his hands over Eliot’s ribs as they kiss in the empty classroom. Eliot pulls away, dropping another kiss on his nose. “Now turn around and put your hands on the desk, gorgeous.”

“You’re bossy,” Quentin says, grinning, doing what Eliot asks, but not before he clears the desk, shoving all his papers onto the floor. He looks over his shoulder at Eliot, shrugging his shoulders. “I always wanted to do that.”

Eliot takes a moment, again, he could do this all night, to just look at Quentin. The muscles in his back are flexing with every breath, the black ink from the tattoo on his upper back stark against the smooth white skin. An ornate ‘Q’ surrounded by elegant framework—Eliot has a similar one on his back, a gift from Brakebills, and he never thought of it as particularly sexy, but _goddamn_ it fucking _is_.

Eliot steps forward, and he kicks out Quentin’s legs to force him to spread them wider. Quentin shoots him a heated look over his shoulder as Eliot wraps his fingers around Quentin’s hips, pulling him back slightly and dragging his ass right against Eliot’s hard dick. 

“Fuck,” Eliot whispers; he can practically feel Quentin quaking around his dick, and he hears an answering groan from Quentin. Eliot traces a protection and cleaning tut on Quentin’s back, watching the magic sink into his skin, feeling Quentin shiver as he feels the spell work on his body. 

Eliot pulls Quentin’s cheeks apart, revealing his tight entrance. Eliot drops to his knees and drags the flat of his tongue right across it, and Quentin’s answering moan, the way his legs shake send a surge of pleasure through Eliot’s body. He licks and strokes his tongue inside Quentin, delighting in all the filthy words and noises falling from Quentin’s lips. After a few moments, he pulls his face away, smiling as Quentin pushes back, searching for him. Eliot replaces his tongue with his slick fingers, working one, then two into Quentin, opening him up. Finally he stands up and conjures more lube, covering his cock with it. Then he puts the blunt head of his dick against Quentin’s opening, relishing in how wrecked Quentin already looks, with his hair mussed and his dark eyes hungry as he gazes at Eliot over his shoulder.

“You ready?” Eliot asks, lazily dragging the head of his cock up and down over Quentin’s entrance.

“Yes, you damn tease,” Quentin says, with no heat to it. “I didn’t _need_ all that prep.”

“Wasn’t it fun, though?” Eliot asks as he grabs his cock, pressing it right against Quentin’s entrance.

“Yeah,” Quentin sighs as Eliot pushes forward. Eliot’s eyes flutter shut as he slowly slides into Quentin’s tight heat, decadent and pulsing right against his dick. His mouth falls open as he inches forward, taking his time as Quentin relaxes back against him. 

“God you’re so tight,” he says, his hands move up and down Quentin’s hips and thighs, pushing forward until his hips are flush against Quentin’s ass.

Quentin rocks back against him, his forehead against his desk, and Eliot pulls halfway out and thrusts slowly back in, the feel of Quentin’s body quivering around Eliot’s dick almost enough to make him come embarrassingly quickly. 

“You feel better than I thought you would. I don’t fucking know how that’s possible,” Quentin says. “Fuck me, come on. You teased enough.”

Eliot sets a slow rhythm, pumping his cock in and out, straightening and widening his legs, leaning over Quentins’ back so he can bite and lick at his hot skin, drag his tongue over the dark tattoo. “I hardly teased you at all,” he says, his breath starting to come faster.

“All—fucking—semester, you teased me,” Quentin says, moving with each thrust, reaching one hand back to grip at Eliot’s shoulder, his neck, anything he can reach. “Every time you looked at me, made some smart-ass flirt—fuck yes, just like that—you were a tease. Because you knew I couldn’t have you.”

“You are—having—me,” Eliot replies, fisting one hand in Quentin’s hair so he can pull his head up and suck at his neck. Quentin moans louder than ever, and Eliot quickens his pace, his other hand on Quentin’s hip holding him tightly in place, snapping his hips as he fucks Quentin hard and fast. Quentin reaches down to his cock and starts to jerk himself off, the obscene sound of skin-on-skin and their harsh pants filling the entire room. It’s not long before Eliot can feel his balls tightening, and he let’s go of Quentin’s hair, holding his hips with both hands. 

“Do you want me to—” he starts, and he’s cut off by Quentin’s fast, “No. Stay,” and that’s all it takes. Eliot’s orgasm slams into him, spiraling from his cock to his thighs and chest, electricity and a fire searing throughout his entire body. A few seconds later Quentin tightens around him, crying out as he comes, pushing back against Eliot, his upper body collapsed on his desk.

Eliot leans forward, draping himself over Quentin’s back as he gasps into his sweaty skin, licking it from his tattoo and the back of his neck. “Fuck,” he whispers. “That was…” he trails off, words leaving him behind. _The best sex of my life._

“Yeah,” Quentin agrees. He pushes up, and Eliot steps back on shaky legs, wincing as he pulls out, his arms wrapping around Quentin’s torso as he stands and turns to Eliot. He presses his face against Eliot’s collarbone, dropping kisses over the skin there.

Eliot runs his hands up Quentin’s arms, to his shoulders and neck to frame his face as he looks up into Eliot’s face. Eliot searches Quentin’s brown eyes, light and happy, and he’s suddenly seized by the thought that he may never get to see this again. He can’t stop the smile from falling off his face, and Quentin’s brow furrows as he pushes up for a kiss. 

“Why that face?” he asks, looking around at the mess they made. There are clothes all over the floor, come drying on their bodies, the floor, and his desk.

“Nothing,” Eliot says, feeling self-conscious. He helps Quentin spell away the mess and they start gathering their clothes. “I just—ah, really wish you weren’t a teacher.” _God_ , what is his _deal_. He was just _inside_ this guy and now he can’t even look him in the eye. “I had fun with you. Not just like tonight, which was a lot of fun, but—talking. All semester.”

Quentin has pulled on his boxers, and he steps over to Eliot, gently tilting his chin until he meets Quentin’s eyes. “Well, the fun doesn’t have to stop. If you don’t want it to.” Eliot looks at him quizzically, wondering if Quentin is proposing they go full-on hidden affair and all that it entails. Quentin smiles at him and continues, “I was only here for a semester. As a favor to Henry until he could get the spot permanently filled. After I get final grades turned in, my employment at Brakebills is over.” He runs his hand down Eliot’s chest, then turns and reaches for his pants. Eliot is staring at him, turning his words over in his mind. Quentin seems utterly nonplussed as he continues, “I was going to ask you out as soon as I finished grading your final. You beat me to the punch, though.” He fastens his pants, giving Eliot an appreciative look. “I’m not all that upset about it, to be honest.”

Eliot laughs as Quentin steps forward, wrapping one hand around the back of his neck to pull him into another kiss. He’s still grinning when he pulls away, beaming down at Quentin.

“Neither am I.”

~~~


End file.
